Introductions
by OrbitZero
Summary: Jean's thoughts as she meets each of the ghosts for the first time.


Warnings for language.

Introductions

This place was a prison.

She never would have thought that this is what would be waiting for her after death. Before her spirit even had a chance to depart, she was thrown into a glass cube, kidnapped by strange men and sent into an underground complex. She was the fourth addition to the strange compound. But by now, there were seven others dragged into this place alongside her, all in similar glass cells. She assumed the last one they brought in was the final captive. It'd been weeks, and none of the men had come down since.

In that time, she learned what she could of the others, trying to piece together the puzzle of why they had been captured.

She'd spent the most time with the first three-the little boy, Billy, the grotesue, cellophane-wrapped remnants of Jimmy, and the bound Susan. None of them were particularly malevolent, she felt, but she did always try to see the good in people.

Billy was a bit of a spoiled kid, but she couldn't bring herself to blame him for that, even when he spent restless nights screeching and screaming that he wanted to play Cowboys and Indians, that he wanted out of his room. No, that was the fault of his parents. She didn't consider herself strict, but it was obvious to her the boy could've used some more discipline in his waking life. It saddened her that his death could have been prevented, if only his parents had been more attentive. She did her best to keep the boy happy, if only because she pitied him. She sang songs with him, and played games with him as best as she could("I Spy" had quickly become annoying to the rest of the inmates, the one with the caged head in particular, who would hoop and holler when the two tried to speak to each other). She found that he was quite sweet, when he had his way, at least.

Jimmy wasn't much of a talker. He spent much of his time sprawled out in his cell, occasionally lifting his head to look around at the others. He'd ripped the cellophane off of his head numerous times, but to no avail. For every layer he ripped off, he could never free his head. She pitied him, too, just a little. She'd learned in a brief conversation that he'd died due to shirking a bet. It was cruel what was done to him, no doubt, but he should have been more careful in life. Dealing with the mob was a dangerous thing. But she didn't scold him for it. She was sure he'd learned his lesson by now.

Susan was perhaps the most venomous of the original three she'd spent time with. The girl considered herself quite a seductress, and had preyed on boys all through high school. But she'd broken one too many hearts, and ended up strangled for it. Susan was still proud of herself for what she'd considered her "impressive track record", and had no regrets. It was for that reason that Jean could not sympathise with the girl. She'd never wished death on anyone, and never would. But she couldn't help but feel that the girl was getting what she'd deserved. She tried not to speak much with Susan for that reason.

Sometime later after she'd been captured and contained, another spirit joined them. He, like the other three, was not a particularly evil person. He was simply a boy with an attitude problem. Once again, Jean thought of how the boy's death probably could've been prevented with better parenting. She'd spoken with him long enough to learn how he died.

The boy had scoffed. "Some two-bit punk greaser cut my brakes. Son of a bitch couldn't handle someone bein' better than him. I woulda won that race." The boy tapped his bat against the side of his feet as he spoke. "Woulda blown those punks outta the water."

It wasn't long at all after that when another cube was set into place. Jean felt her face flush from embarrassment at the sight of the newest ghost-a wet, completely nude girl with lacerations covering her body. She seemed to be lost, blackened eyes staring around with no visible show of emotions. Her pale hand clutched a bloody knife. The boy, Royce, whistled lowly at the sight of the girl. Jimmy picked his head up and turned it towards the nude girl's cell. Jean was thankful that the girl's cell was on the end of the hall, where the younger boy, Billy couldn't really see her. She heard Susan snort.

"That's all plastic, I don't know what you pathetic pigs are staring at," she sneered, glaring daggers at the other woman.

"Damn, baby, you are _stacked!_" Royce called out, tapping his bat against the glass wall. The writing glowed briefly with each tap.

The girl stared, not responding.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't be shy. Who knows how long we'll be down here!" he shouted, a grin on his half-torn off face.

"Royce. Don't bother her," Jean said. "It's torture enough being trapped down here. We shouldn't try to make it worse for any of us."

"Shit, grandma, that's just the thing." Jean narrowed her eyes at the insult, but said nothing. She knew from experience that. when raising teenagers, you couldn't let them see what got to you. "I'm just tryin' to be friendly! Don't hurt to make friends, right?"

"Don't. Bother. Her," she said in her most authoritative tone. The kid scoffed, rolling his eyes, and tossing one last lusty glare over to the cell at the end of the corridor.

"I'm sorry..." the girl whispered for the first time, and most certainly not the last. Her voice was barely audible. Jean leaned as close to the direction of the girl's cell as possible.

"Sorry for what, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Never the beauty they deserved..." was the response.

Jean couldn't imagine anyone insulting the beautiful girl for her appearance. Then she remembered Susan's venomous remark, and wondered how many people had made her think she was ugly. "What's your name?" Jean asked.

She saw the girl blink, as if she struggled to remember. "Dana."

It was all she could get out of the girl, who continued to repeat "I'm sorry", and began to smear the walls with blood.

Soon after Dana had arrived, the men were wheeling another glass cube down into basement. Jean watched, wondering what sort on inmate they'd added this time. This ghost was a withered young woman, with a gaunt face and pale, almost white, blue eyes. Her hair fell in thin, blonde curls. She was locked up in some sort of wooden binding. Jean searched for the word, and was reminded of images of old pilgrims being locked up in the stocks. Then, she noticed the clothing _did_ resemble that of a pilgrim woman.

This ghost was quiet, but proud. She stood as tall as possible with the stocks around her shoulders, and walked peacefully into her cell. Her gaze was piercing, and it even made Jean uncomfortable, even though she ultimately had nothing to fear.

The woman turned to view the other inhabitants of the corridor. Billy glared at her, Jimmy's reaction couldn't be seen. Susan looked her up and down, as if sizing her up. Every woman seemed to be competition for the seductress. Royce didn't give her a second glance. And Dana didn't say a word, even though the new woman visibly scowled at the sight of the naked girl, whispering, "No decency, none at all."

"Hello," Jean said, always trying to approach the spirits as a friend. There wasn't much reason for them to all hate each other. Murders, seductresses, rapists, children, housewives, churchgoers-whatever they were in life, death was the great equaliser. She did her best to stay friendly. "My name is Jean. Who are you?"

"Goody Smith."

"This may be a bit of an odd question, but I find myself asking it to everyone who comes down here," Jean prefaced, a little nervous under the strange woman's gaze. "Do you know anything about what's going on? Why we're being captured like this?"

"We are being collected," Goody Smith replied. Jean noticed the woman spoke with an English accent. Could she truly be that old? "Look at the markings on the cells. Do you recognise them? Any of you?"

Everyone shook their head, but perked up, grateful to finally meet someone who was willing to tell them what was happening.

"Someone's studied the occult. Devil worshippers, they are, catching us one by one and containing us until the time comes. They'll be using us. We are the Black Zodiac."

"Black Zodiac?" Susan repeated. "What's that? I mean, I would read my horoscope in the paper each day, and I've never heard of the Black Zodiac."

"You best be keeping away from such things as horoscopes and astrology. It's witchcraft, the Devil's toys." She shook a finger as she spoke to the girl, who rolled her eyes in response. "The Black Zodiac is comprised of twelve ghosts. The First Born Son, The Torso, The Bound Girl, The Withered Lover, The Torn Prince, The Angry Princess, The Pilgrimiss, The Great Child, The Dire Mother, The Hammer, The Jackal, and The Juggernaut." She indicated each of the cells as she recounted the names. Jean tried to memorise which was which. "Then, there must be a living sacrifice, who becomes the thirteenth ghost and opens the Eye of Hell. They've caught seven of us, for now. It won't be long."

"This is bullshit!" Royce shouted, slamming his baseball bat against his cell. "What the fuck kind of sick people are these guys?"

"Watch your language, boy!" Goody Smith cried shrilly. "It's the Devil's tongue you got wagging in your mouth!"

"Aw cut the gas, you hag."

Goody Smith shrieked, staring the boy down. He rolled his eyes in response.

Jean was given a few days to contemplate the information about the Black Zodiac before two more ghosts were added to the ranks. They were both in the same containment cube, and kept in the same cells. Perhaps the men were too frightened to try to separate them.

She couldn't help but recoil in disgust when she saw them. The first was a huge, obese man in a diaper and bib, clutching an axe in one hand. His bib and chest and face were smeared with food and what looked like vomit. A tiny woman in a frilly dress stood on a chair next to him, spoon feeding the behemoth. Jean wanted to retch, and was grateful for small favours, like the fact that their cell was not in her direct line of sight.

"That...is...grody..." Royce said, covering his mouth with his hand.

A muffled "Oh shit" floated up from Jimmy's cell.

Susan and Billy let out simultaneous groans of "ewww..."

The obese man growled, and slammed his axe against the glass. He realised quickly it didn't work, but it was enough of a threat to keep everyone from making any more remarks. "Oh, Harold, do keep your temper sweetheart," the woman said meekly. "That is, please, if you want, sweetie. Here, have some more food." Jean cringed as the woman spooned another helping into the man's mouth. She looked away, not even bothering to talk with them. She didn't know if she'd be able to take looking at the man anymore.

The two kept to themselves mostly, only ever reacting to the occasional disparaging remark from Royce. Jean did her best to try to get him to keep quiet, but it was certainly a futile effort considering the boy's attitude.

It was quite a while before the men came back with another ghost. Jean covered her mouth in horror as she looked at the man let out of the containment cube and into the cell. He was bulky, and tall, with huge metallic spikes driven through him in various places all over his body. A metal collar was fixed around his neck, and his hand was gone, replaced by a sledgehammer. "Oh my god," she whispered. "What did they do to you?"

The man grunted, sneering at her. "Ask your ancestors, lady. Accusin' me of stealin', then killin' my family! I got my revenge, I killed the bastard who lynched my children, my wife, then burned them!"

"I'm so sorry," Jean said, truly feeling pity for the man. She couldn't imagine the amount of pain that must have caused him. Even though she did not believe in killing, she couldn't help but feel that maybe whoever the man killed deserved it, whether the man in the cell was a thief or not. At any rate, no one deserved to be so mutilated.

"Sorry don't mean shit. It ain't goin' to help me now." He slammed his hammer fist into the glass wall, grunting angrily as nothing happened.

"Don't bother," Royce called out. "We're trapped in here like rats. No way we can get outta these cells."

The man looked down at his hands, then sat down against the wall, contemplating his fate.

It was an even longer time before the men came back downstairs again. But when they did, everyone noticed. Whatever was in the containment cube was howling and screeching madly, slamming itself into the walls of the cube repeatedly. There was a skittering noise, and Jean realised that the person was _clawing_ at the glass. She watched on curiously, impulsively putting her hands to her ears as the newest ghost was dumped into its respective cell.

The ghost fell to the ground, but scrambled back to its bare feet, and threw itself at the door of the cell. He wore some kind of strange cage on his head, with the bars in front of his face ripped outward. Wild blue eyes darted all over as he continued to scratch at the glass, causing a terrible sound. The noise was soon drowned out by the man's incessant screeching and howling. Jean heard Goody Smith, who she'd since learned had the first name of Isabella, whispering a prayer.

"You crazy fuck, stop your screaming will ya?" Royce shouted. Billy was drawn back in his cell as far away from the noise as possible. "You aren't getting out of there, none of us are!"

But he didn't stop. He kept screaming, and throwing himself against the glass. After several terrible hours of nonstop shrieking, slamming, and clawing, he finally stopped, dropping down to the floor, panting.

"Thank fucking God," Susan muttered.

Jean considered trying to talk to the man, but was terrified of setting him off on another screaming binge. Royce did it for her, though. "What in the _fuck _is your problem, man?"

Laughter rang out from the cell. Little giggles, at first, but then howling, mad laughter as the man rolled back and forth on the ground, kicking and flailing his arms as he did so.

"A lost soul if'n there ever was one," Isabella whispered.

Soon after, the men returned with the final spirit. A man, seven feet tall, riddled with bullet holes. Jean cringed the first time she saw him, but soon got used to seeing the gore. After all, she knew she wasn't exactly looking her best either. He seemed a little slow, and she wouldn't be surprised to find out if he were illiterate.

"What's your name?" Jean asked, hoping he might be some sort of 'gentle giant' type.

"Horace, ma'am," he answered. She inquired as to how he died. "Bullets, ma'am. The cops got me fer killin' some girls."

"The divine purpose!" the man in the head-cage shrieked. They'd all come to refer to him as the Jackal, as the symbol on his door read, and he hadn't supplied a name otherwise.

"Huh?" Horace asked, most likely unsure of what the words meant.

"Don't mind him," Susan said angrily. "None of us do."

Jean sighed quietly as night fell, bringing silence with it, save for the occasional cackle or shriek from the Jackal. She looked around at all of the spirits trapped alongside her in the basement. The ghosts were all accounted for. How long until they were set to do their dirty job? She missed her children, her husband. She hated this basement. Hated sharing it with bratty teens, murderers, and psychotic headcases. She prayed each night for a miracle, for a way out of this place. Little did she know, it would come soon enough.


End file.
